


In the shadow of men

by Xiiee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Westworld, Cowboys and robots, Don't have to know about westworld, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Lots of pewpewpew, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some parts be groundhog day ish, With background anahardt, reference to past symbra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiiee/pseuds/Xiiee
Summary: Welcome, visitor, to Westworld.--Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada meet in a highly advanced theme park that seems stuck in the mid-1800's. While visitors take on the role of righteous heroes or become the most dangerous criminals in the Wild West, these two embark on a journey to tip the scales and shoot guns. Yeehaw.Rated V for Very Bad At Summaries. You do not have to know about Westworld to read, info about the universe has been peppered through it all 8')





	1. The Land of Opportunity

The rhythmic shaking of the train would have lulled Jesse to sleep if he hadn’t been so nervous. There were people around him, comfortably leaning into their seats or chatting with each other. The spot he had picked was in a  quieter part of the car, his only neighbors being two other men sitting close together. They spoke quietly, in a language Jesse couldn’t quite understand but was certain he had heard somewhere. Figured one of them was a first-timer, from the way he looked out the window at everything his companion pointed out.

Jesse was a first-timer himself, and a nervous one at that. Reigning in his excitement was hard, and he found himself having a difficult time not fidgeting with the edge of his hat. He had never seen a train quite this fancy; nothing compared to the varnished wood panelling on the inner walls of the car. The seats were cozy, upholstered in rich maroon velvet that matched the curtains. There was even a bar made of solid wood at the back, and the man behind it knew exactly which drink to prepare without needing to exchange a word with the customers. Two ladies in colorful buttoned-up dresses conversed with their husbands, seemingly excited to see what their destination would be like. An old man in a brown leather trench coat nursed his whiskey, eyes on the window. Jesse couldn’t help but tip his stetson up to look outside as well. He couldn’t hold back a soft gasp, instantly enamored with the scenery that ran along the railroad.

Plateau upon plateau of burnt orange rock framed the plains, the ground a sea of tall grass occasionally interrupted by patches of rocky scrubland. In the distance, a river lazily snaked its way in between the rocky formations. Fluffy clouds of cotton stood stark against the bluest sky Jesse had ever seen. Somewhere further north, a string of horses ran wild and free, their hooves kicking up dust in a chalky fog behind them. Jesse had a feeling that if he opened the window, the smell would be the invigorating scent of nature barely touched by man. It was the Wild West: the land of the free and the daring.

The sight alone was enough for Jesse to feel the excitement gaining on him. He took a deep breath, finding himself smiling at the thought of having something that waited for him ahead. It was a gut feeling : there was, in this place, an adventure with his name written on it.

“There we are, brother. Sweetwater. She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

The one who spoke was one of the pair of nearby men Jesse had spotted earlier, speaking English this time. Jesse discreetly looked over to see dark hair with a matching, slightly greying beard, piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and a jawline sharp enough to kill a man. The other shared features with him, although he was a tad younger and softer. The two men cut an impressive figure in their jackets -- fine work, must’ve cost a pretty penny. Jesse curiously followed their gaze through the window, a darker spot in the distance catching his attention. Their destination was up ahead a small village of wooden buildings. Pastures framed the northwestern side of town, the pale dots of color among the green probably cows or horses.

Some oohs and aahs could be heard as other passengers pointed at the town through the window.

“Nice, I suppose,” the younger brother replied, leaning back into his seat. Jesse found himself eavesdropping on their conversation -- while the younger one had never been there, the older seemed to know a thing or two about the area. Probably someone who had visited the park once or twice already. The versimilitude of the whole Westworld experience was already making Jesse feel like it was the real deal -- like there was no outside world he had to return to when his stay was over. Like he had no job or other obligations to pull him back out of this straight-up cowboy dream.

“You know what makes this place so special, Genji?” The older brother continued, standing up to lean against the window. “Everything happening here has a deeper meaning. You walk in a boy and come out a man. It allows you to discover who you really are.”

“You didn’t need that place to discover how much of an asshole you can be sometimes, right Hanzo?” The younger one, Genji, sunk into his seat, gesturing at the barman for a drink. Hanzo rolled his eyes with a sigh. This one had probably heard his share of bull only siblings could spout out at each other, Jesse figured. Couldn’t say he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing what it felt like himself, sadly -- though some friends back home did give him a similar treatment, which seemed fair.

“Who knows, maybe it will help you stop wetting your bed,” the older replied. “You’re way past that age.”

“I don’t--” Genji interrupted himself, squinting at his brother. “Oh, just you wait, I’ll get you so bad at poker tonight, you’ll be crying for mercy. It’ll be a bloodbath.”

“So long as you don’t make it a literal one. If you say you’re a big boy, you’ll have to clean up after yourself like one.” Hanzo shrugged, running a hand through his loose hair before sinking a dark cowboy hat onto his head. The barman walked up to the two brothers, offering each of them a glass of bourbon.

Jesse shifted in his seat at the thought of a real bloodbath. If the rumors were true, some people came to the park with darker desires in mind. While he was curious as to what Westworld had to offer in terms of thrills, he had heard other visitors liked to play the bad guy, doing things they could never do in ordinary life. Fuck, pillage, kill --  sometimes all three at the same time.

It was probably easier for them to justify, knowing that the hosts were ultimately marvels of engineering and programming rather than humans in the flesh. Or at least it helped them sleep at night.

Admittedly, it was easier to play the big shot when no consequences ultimately followed you home, and when your opponents couldn’t truly harm you.

Jesse did not know which role he would take on when he walked into Sweetwater. Maybe he would go for tamer things at first -- apparently the farther one ventured from the town, the more intense the experience was. Then again, the idea of going full “gunslinger finding his way to the Dark Tower,” toting two revolvers and shooting his way to success was also to be considered.

Be the hero of his own western story and all.

Standing up to get a last glass of whiskey before arrival, Jesse made his way between the seats towards the back of the car. His gaze caught another’s for a split second, dark almond-shaped eyes looking straight into his. Hanzo, the older brother, gave a nod of acknowledgement; Jesse tipped his hat in return, feeling butterflies in his stomach as he walked to the bar.

Fifteen minutes before arrival. Just enough time for a drink to settle his nerves.

 

*

 

All the ads picturing the town of Sweetwater were nothing compared to the feeling of actually walking through its bustling streets. If one didn’t pay too much attention, it was hard to discern the newcomers from the hosts. They walked with purpose, their programmed habits looking for all the world like a routine established over years of actually living in a frontier town.

Jesse’s first step off the train was like entering uncharted territory. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, testing the soles of his cowboy boots on the dirt road as he walked towards Sweetwater proper. The air was warm, smelling of dry, packed earth and horse. The sun was high in the sky, bathing everything in a bright light. Every single detail was thought out and aged to look authentic. The signs on each establishment were hand painted with care, the wooden walls discolored from sunlight and erosion from the everpresent sand.  He wished he had brought Gabe along with him.  For all that his roommate would’ve called it cheesy and whined about the heat, he would’ve liked it nonetheless. At least, after he’d sufficiently teased Jesse about his undying love for western movies going a bit too far.

_Not too far. Just perfect._

Wandering on the main street, Jesse lost sight of the two brothers he had seen on the train. Like the other guests, they were probably already looking for something to try. At the corner of the street by a doctor’s office, a hulking bearded man bent down to press a kiss to a woman’s cheek. The lady, laughing in delight as she tightened the scarf covering her hair, waved him goodbye and flipped the door sign from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open.’ At the door of a seedier looking establishment ( _Amélie’s Boudoir_ , the sign read), two women in revealing dresses waved at people on the street and welcomed them inside, promising drinks, games, music, and other pleasures. Jesse could hear the sound of a player piano coming from within the building.

The sheriff, a tall blonde man surrounded by a couple other men of what appeared to be a small militia, stood atop a wooden crate and called for volunteers to hunt down a certain criminal by the name of Santiago Lopez. Jesse stepped closer, squinting slightly at the sketch on the wanted poster the man held in his hand.

“You! You look like you got guts,” the blonde man noted as he pushed the poster into Jesse’s hands. “Dirty Lopez is hiding somewhere in the hills with a bunch of good-for-nothing’s. Escaped our watch two days ago. You up for a bit of easy money?”

His first interaction in the park. He had been looking forward to this. Jesse had to fight the urge to ask the question on every first-timer’s lips. Said question died in his throat when the air was knocked out of his lungs by what seemed to be a ball of tousled brown hair.

“Oof! Watch it, kiddo--” Before he even steadied himself, she was gone with a screech, followed by another child running after her with a scorpion hanging from his grasp. Well crap, he thought with a laugh, pushing his hat on his head. Had it been a snake, Jesse would’ve been running too. He could deal most creepy crawlies, but not with the ones that slithered and played maracas with their tails. There was a limit to what he could endure, and he hoped not to run into any of his sworn reptilian enemies in the park.

The sheriff watched as the children ran off, almost colliding with another group of passersby down the street. The fondness in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Jesse, which brought the question back to his mind. _Are you real?_

Sure looked like it.

“So, about Lopez.” The sheriff’s eyes were back on him, blue and piercing. “The reward is to be divided among the people who go out looking for him. Are you in, son, or is that gun on your belt just there to look pretty? If you’re interested in bigger fish, Rutledge and Fawkes just robbed the bank in Wildepoint and seem to be headed our way.”

Welp, there it was. Jesse had told himself he would start slow, take a day or two to get a feel for the place before diving into the action. He wanted to make sure he did things the right way, not like a bumbling beginner who didn’t know the basic rules of the game. Offering the sheriff an apologetic smile, he folded the wanted posted and shoved it into his back pocket, under his serape. From what he had heard of the park, this was one of the ways stories started: treasure hunts, exploration, even short-lived romances were but a few of the adventures offered. Apparently the thrill of hunting fugitives and criminals was also on the list.

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out, though I ain’t sure I’m cut out for that kind of job. Mighty kind of you to offer, sheriff...”

“Morrison.” the man answered, fetching another wanted poster from a nearby box. “If you change your mind, cowboy, make sure to drop by the office next to the _Bullen_. You can’t miss it.”

Jesse nodded and tipped his hat at the man before leaving. The gesture came in a strangely natural manner, and Jesse repeated it while looking at his own reflection in a window. _Cowboy, huh._

 

*

 

Jesse headed further down the street to the next corner where a bigger building stood, taking up the whole corner with its two floors. _Zum betrunkenen Bullen_ _\- Saloon & Brewery_ was one of the rare buildings that had large curtained windows on the walls facing the street. Whereas most of the buildings were square with a single door for clientele to enter, the _Bullen_ had a fifth wall that formed an angle to face the intersection directly, welcoming anyone who walked towards it from the direction of the train station. A small trickle of people were already walking in and out. The smell of good meat and beer reached Jesse in a reminder that his eggs and toast were now far behind him and that putting food in his body was still something he had to do at least another two times today. He didn’t need much convincing, his feet leading him to the building and straight towards the door.

God, he hoped no one inside could hear how loudly his stomach was rumbling. It was almost embarrassing.

The sudden sound of broken glass followed by a thump made Jesse freeze in his tracks despite the protests of his stomach. He heard a woman inside scream in surprise, then complete silence. For a few seconds, Jesse couldn’t help but stand there, wondering if he should turn away and leave the vicinity before someone started shooting up the place. The absence of any noise made the anticipation even more stressful, and he found himself backing up a step before the two swinging doors busted open as someone ran out.

The boy must not have been older than twenty, short and scrawny and holding onto his black leather hat for dear life as he made a beeline for the street. Another bulkier stranger stumbled out of the saloon as quickly as the first one, crying out in what sounded like fear.

If the silence was eerie before, the sound of heavy footsteps was worse. They were loud and fast, making the two runners in their tracks to look back at the door,  long enough for Jesse to notice a growing dark spot on the bigger one’s pants. Hell, if he had been in that guy’s place at the moment, he might’ve been pissing himself too.

Before Jesse could even imagine what had scared them like that, the doors swung open again on a man he’d seen sweetly kissing his lady friend on the street corner only moments ago. Freakishly tall and built like a bull, the massive gentleman held a third person by the lapels in one hand and a barstool in the other. The apron he wore seemed comically tiny on his large frame, and Jesse realized in stupor that those muscular arms were not just for show when the man lifted the person he was holding and chucked them into the two others, toppling them all over in the process. Wielding the barstool like a war hammer, the white-haired man sneered at the three poor, poor people who must have angered some deity to suffer that fate.

“And while you’re at it,” the man bellowed, the stool slapping into the palm of his free hand like a baseball bat, “tell your boss that if I find any of you Talon goons doing business in _my_ saloon, he’ll have to come pick you up next time because I will make sure you can’t run off!” The veins popped on his neck, looking as if they were about to burst. Jesse would have scooched over to a place where the man couldn’t see him, but instinct told him that any movement would catch the barkeep’s attention.

Come to think of it, this was probably the first time he _didn’t_ want to be noticed by someone whose job description included giving booze to customers.

The three youths ran off without needing a second warning, and the hulking bear of a man huffed, his stance relaxing and his gaze sweeping the street, inevitably falling on Jesse.

Oh shit, he was next. Maybe standing in this one spot was a crime, and he was the next one in line for some divine retribution.

Surprisingly, the angry expression on the man’s face faded away in a blink, instantly replaced by a warm smile as he waved at Jesse.

“Greetings, son!” The man laughed, setting the barstool down and putting his fists on his hips. Jesse found himself nervously breathing in and out, taken aback by the fact that this guy right here actually _threw_ someone - as in throwing up in the air until they hit the ground - out of his saloon with his big meaty hands.

“Ha-haaah… h-howdy?” was the only miserable greeting Jesse could muster up, still frazzled by the whole display. He had always considered himself decently tall and built, and not easily frightened by other people -- but even at 6’1,’’ the other guy still had at least a head on him, and was twice as wide.

The barkeep luckily seemed to catch on from the look on Jesse’s face, his laughter doubling in volume. “Don’t worry my friend, this treatment is reserved for those Talon gang troublemakers. Come in, come in, we have freshly brewed beer and sausage for a cowboy like you.”

The word registered, and Jesse finally let out the breath he had been holding. He was a _cowboy_ , in a _cowboy_ story. He just never thought the first chapter would be titled ‘Gang members literally fly out of a saloon, more at eleven.’ The smile on the big man’s face was contagious, and Jesse found that his appetite was back with a vengeance. He smiled, a hand on his stomach as if to silence its loud cries.  

“Alrighty sir, please lead the way,” he agreed, old-fashioned speech patterns making their way back into his mouth naturally. In this kind of ambiance, they just felt right.

 

*

 

He ended up sitting on the very same stool that had been used to threaten the small fry belonging to the Talon gang. Ironic? Maybe not, but it was still amusing. Eating by himself, Jesse had earned a comfortable spot at the counter, close enough to the barkeep to have the privilege of hearing his entertaining stories while someone played old tunes on an upright piano in the corner. Reinhardt, the barkeep and owner of the saloon, had a gift for telling tales and garnering a captive audience when he was not busy scaring troublemakers away from ‘the finest establishment of Sweetwater’ -- his words exactly.

Jesse tried to spot any behavior that would betray the older gentleman’s identity as a host, but instead found himself impressed by how perfectly realistic the man proved to be, down to the smallest microexpression. He now understood why people felt the need to repeat countless times that the hosts weren’t human: it was easy to forget when in their presence. No matter how he tried to tell himself that the world around him wasn’t real, it felt more and more as if the park was just another kind of reality. He could fit in here, be who he wanted to be among these people -- and it would have no consequence whatsoever on his life outside of Sweetwater.

“So, these… Talon guys,” Jesse leaned against the counter, watching as Reinhardt poured him a second glass of a malty brown ale. “They show up often? What’s so bad ‘bout them?”

“Son, everyone here knows of the Talon gang.” Reinhardt set the beer between them and gave the glass a little push towards Jesse. He then pulled a stool on his side of the bar, lowering it to sit at the newcomer’s level. “They arrived around twenty or so years ago -- I remember only having the saloon open for a few months before, I was a wee boy at the time…” He paused, looking at Jesse -- who had tilted his head, an eyebrow quirked up and a smirk tugging at his lips. “What, you don’t believe me? I’ve been young too, boy, even if I don’t quite look the part anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course you were-- The ‘wee’ part had me suspicious is all,” Jesse punctuated, fingers signing air quotes at the word. He simply couldn’t get over how huge the guy was. At least his observation made the barman laugh, one of those loud barks that came out of the blue and startled other patrons. One of the ladies sitting by a window looked outright angry at them -- which Jesse understood when he spotted the stain on her dress and empty wine glass in her hand.

Whoops.

The big man rested his elbows on the bar top, hands linking together. The gleam of amusement was still in his eyes, his smile never seeming to leave his lips.

“As I was saying, a wee boy.” Jesse snickered, shifting his attention back to the man and forgetting about the upset woman and her spilled wine. Reinhardt continued, “They’re harmless enough when you meet one or two of them, but they bring along bad business. Tried to start charging people for their ‘protection,’, as they called it, which Sheriff Morrison put an end to in a few days. They’ve been unusually restless lately.”

“You’re saying they’re brewing something.” Jesse pulled a cigar out of his pocket and stuck it between his lips. In the next moment, he found an ashtray next to his glass and a friendly hand extended to him, a lighter in its palm. Reinhardt smiled, white teeth showing under his beard.

“If they are, someone will have to knock some sense into them. There is only one brewery in town, and the _Bullen_ is not into competition, friendly or otherwise.”

 

*

 

It was a few days before Jesse met the brothers from the train again. Hanging out around the saloon proved to be a good source of entertainment: in the first few days, he had met several other characters from the park. Ana, the thin woman in the scarf who turned out to be Reinhardt’s wife, ran the doctor’s office down the street. Sheriff Morrison had showed up once with a couple other people, buying everyone a round to celebrate the capture of Dirty Lopez. Jesse thought for a moment about asking the sheriff more about Talon, but ultimately decided against it when he saw the man sitting among a group of people, laughing with a glass in hand and retelling stories of how they found the guy in the hills and jumped him while he was taking a leak. There was no point in putting a damper on his mood at the moment, and Jesse sat with them instead, smiling to himself when Reinhardt gave the man a congratulatory noogie.

The feeling of camaraderie at the _Bullen_ reminded Jesse of home, making him comfortable around the people that brought life to this corner of Sweetwater. It also helped him get used to the town. He felt like the next time adventure crossed his path, he would jump on it instead of letting it pass. He didn’t want to be one of those people who never left the initial town, too enraptured by the bars, stores and houses of gambling and pleasure to try something more challenging. Sure, it had been fun for the first few days while he was getting accustomed to the ambiance and setting, but doing the same thing every day quickly got old to Jesse. He couldn’t understand the people who came back more than once without trying anything new -- this place wasn’t supposed to be one where you let routine take over.

It was the sight of a small group of people on horseback walking through town that made Jesse abandon the dice game he was playing on the saloon’s porch. He recognized the features on two of the men, but the others were completely unknown to him. The guns slung over the riders’ backs or showing at their hips were enough of a sign that these guys were headed for some trouble.

Trouble sounded exactly like something Jesse could deal with right now. He had spent enough time appreciating the quiet activity of Sweetwater -- it was time for something that would send his head spinning and make his heart pound in his chest, some real action at last.

In a matter of seconds, he picked up his hat and jogged up to the group, needing to hustle a bit to keep up with the horses’ pace. No one seemed interested in slowing down for him, although he definitely didn’t go unnoticed. Two of the riders broke off from the group to frame his sides as he hurried alongside them.

“So-- you guys-- up to something or what?” Jesse managed to get out between ragged breaths, looking up at the two people on his sides. He did not know the one on his right, but the one on the left rang a bell. The younger of the two brothers let out a short laugh as he stopped his horse, followed by the other gentleman who accompanied him.

“You see a lot of people going around like this without a goal?” He snickered, waiting as Jesse stopped in his tracks, hands on his knees and breathing heavily. God, he hadn’t had a run like that in a while. He should’ve gotten back to it before coming here. If only he had known.

“People are hiding supplies in a nearby cave. We’re doing just a little recon is all,” the other rider informed Jesse. His bandana was up, hiding his features and keeping him from breathing the dust raised by the horses’ hooves.

“Yeah,” the familiar man continued -- what was his name again? “One of these guys spotted Talon mercs in the area, so we got ourselves some heavy guns just in case. Should be fun.”

Talon again. Jesse bit his lower lip, thinking of how little he knew about these guys -- on both teams, really. The quickest answer to his questions was here, mounted on a horse. At a glance, Jesse noticed that the rest of the group had stopped and was waiting for them. He could feel the weight of the gazes on him.

He had to make his decision quickly. The second rider was already making his way back to the rest of his group, leaving Jesse with the man from the train.

He took a deep breath, weighing the odds.

“You got a spare horse? If Talon’s there, I’m in.”

 

*

 

Jesse was thankful he remembered how to ride a horse despite the years that separated him from the last time he did so. The mare he had been given was docile and obeyed his subtlest command, her ears tilted forwards as she trotted on the dirt roads. He could follow along with the group just fine, noting that there was a slight lack of cohesion between most members -- like people who had only allied a short while ago and did not know the quirks of one another. The only two who seemed to move as one were the brothers, Genji and Hanzo. Surely they had been around each other their whole life, so they knew how the other would react to anything that might come their way. Looking at them, Jesse once again entertained the idea of bringing Gabe along. It would be nice to have a partner in crime like these two did, and his roommate would do perfectly once he got all the complaints about ‘spaghetti western cheesiness’ out of his system.

They paused for lunch by the river, letting the horses drink while their group nibbled on the biscuits, carrots and dried meat they had previously packed in one of the saddle bags. It was also a good opportunity to stretch their legs and fill their waterskins again. Jesse watched as the older brother made sure he was upstream from the horses before he bent down, splashing some water on his face and filling his skin.

Sure looked like he was more of a loner type. Didn’t keep Jesse from sauntering over to satisfy his curiosity.

“Are you done staring, or will you speak your mind?” Hanzo didn’t even throw a glance in Jesse’s direction as he took his hat off and ran his hands through his hair. The dark colors he wore may have been a stylish choice, but they clearly came with a cost: they got warmer than your regular white shirt. Not that Jesse was doing much better in his woven red serape and his brown hat.

“Oh, nothin’, nothin’,” Jesse started, thumbs hooking behind his belt. His grin grew bigger as he teased. “Just wondering if you know how to shoot that big thing with those pretty hands of yours.”

His gesture to the hunting rifle strapped to the man’s back froze midway -- due to the icy glare Hanzo threw in his direction. Yikes. For a first impression, this royally sucked.

“Of course I know how,” Hanzo spat. For such a warm day, it suddenly felt… chilly. “I am not daft enough to ask you the same. Your choice of weapon tells me all I need to know.:packs a punch, which makes up for any… sloppy aim.”

Jesse almost retorted with indignation when he spotted the slight tug at the corner of the other’s lips.

_He’s fucking with you. Big time._

“Then again,” Hanzo continued, “everyone is supposed to know how to shoot these things around here, right?”

Of course. It wouldn’t make sense if hosts designed to be gun-toting cowboys didn’t know how to properly handle their weapons. Jesse laughed, hands on his hips. Crisis averted.

“You sure? Even the hookers?”

“Oh, I would fear them the most if I were you.” The other joined him in his mirth, letting out a short laugh. Holding his hair up in his fist, he ran his other hand in the cold water and applied it to the back of his neck with a sigh. “We don’t have this kind of heat where I come from. I am used to more temperate climates; this weather is much drier than home. Not horribly so, but enough to be uncomfortable.”

Jesse kneeled next to him to fill his waterskin as Hanzo tied his hair in a low ponytail. The corner of a tattoo showed on his wrist before he put his gloves back on, and Jesse felt curiosity nagging at him.

“You’ve been here before?” He asked as Hanzo straightened up. “You look like you know some of… this,” he added with a wide gesture towards the plains in Sweetwater’s direction. He hadn’t noticed how far they had traveled, but now that he saw the tiny size of the village in the distance, he couldn’t help but be impressed. They had covered quite a lot of ground.  

The other man nodded, stretching backward and pushing his hips forward, presumably thinking of the road ahead. Jesse was sure he heard his spine pop as he did so. “A few times. I know my way around.” He paused for a second, dark eyes running over Jesse’s features again. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name. I am Shimada Hanzo. You may call me Hanzo, to avoid confusion with the other Shimada.” He added, thumb pointing over his shoulder in his brother’s general direction.

A hand was extended to Jesse, who met him halfway.

“Jesse McCree. Pleased to meetcha.” The handshake was firm as Hanzo stared into Jesse’s eyes, apparently trying to make him flinch. He held his ground, squeezing the other’s hand a little bit harder. Seemed like they both had a little something to prove.

“Alright then, McCree. We should head back to the others. We wouldn’t want to be late to our appointment with Talon.”

“Heh. I wouldn’t dream of missing it, darlin’.”

 

*

 

Maybe letting his curiosity get the best of him hadn’t been the most intelligent decision Jesse had ever made. He was starting to feel the anticipation weigh on his shoulders as the sun pushed closer and closer to the horizon line. His stomach felt like it was trying to switch places with his liver, making him feel slightly queasy.

He tried to remind himself that no matter what might be waiting for them, he couldn’t get seriously  hurt in that skirmish. Hosts were programmed not to hurt guests, and the worst he could possibly sustain would be a couple scrapes or a broken nose if he fell flat on his face. Even if a host tried to shoot him, the specially designed firearms would make sure he walked away with only a little bruising.  Even so, it was hard to remember that only hosts could get hurt in the park when everyone had their weapons drawn and ready. Despite his “immortality”, there was still an uneasiness set deep within his gut.

Hanzo didn’t look much better, biting his lower lip and looking nervously around like a bird ready to take flight at the first sign of aggression. His hunting rifle was loaded, its muzzle kept low as he walked with silent steps. Genji followed close behind him, umbrella in hand. At first, Jesse had found it odd that someone would own that kind of item in such a dry climate, but the sabre Genji had pulled out of it had answered his question. How come they didn’t let him have a sword too? He’d been given the choice between firearms and knives, but nothing like _that_. Then again, judging by their clothing, the brothers seemed rich enough that maybe they were allowed some custom items.

The mouth of the cave where the supplies had been taken was on ground level, carved into the wall of one of the burnt orange plateaus Jesse had seen from the train, right at the entrance to a canyon. The vegetation and rocky terrain were enough to provide cover, and their group spread out to circle the place. Earlier, they had spotted a hint of reflected light in the distance -- on a gun? Or glass, maybe? There were signs of human activity, and it was enough to make them cautious -- especially when Genji pointed out a piece of torn fabric on the ground.

The red T on it, stylized to look almost like a dagger, was telltale evidence, even to an outsider.

They were lucky enough that they could sneak up to within a sixty-foot radius from the mouth of the cave. At that distance, it was undeniable that gang members and mercenaries were present. There were two guards, one posted on each side of the opening, and voices coming from deeper within the cave.

Jesse couldn’t even consider going back at this point: they had left the horses further down the road so they wouldn’t be spotted.

Twenty feet away from him, Hanzo positioned himself, propping the muzzle of his gun against the rock and pushing it through a bush. His expression had changed to the cold focus of a seasoned hunter, his mouth parted on a steady breath, eyes looking down the barrel. They were seven people against approximately twelve Talon members. The odds weren’t too bad, given that they had the element of surprise on their side. Jesse checked his revolver one last time, feeling the weight of cold metal in his hand.

_Adventure, huh._

The gunshot rang loudly, a _crack_ that bounced g into the canyon as one of the armed guards fell. Jesse expected things to go to hell right then and there, but the second guard had a moment of hesitation, staring in disbelief at her fallen comrade. It took one more second before she even made a move to speak, during which time Genji jumped out of his hiding spot to run in her direction, blade in hand.

“Knock knock, asshole!”

_Bang._

The second guard fell with a strangled gurgle of pain, and Genji stopped dead in his tracks, sabre still in hand. He hadn’t even gotten to swing it. His gaze went straight to the bush where he knew his brother was hiding.

On his side, Jesse could easily see Hanzo pulling the bolt handle on his rifle, ejecting the smoking cartridge from the chamber. The sniper stood up, throwing his arms wide with gun still in hand, and let out a laugh.

“ _Knock knock, asshole?_ That’s all you could think of?” His hold on his weapon quickly went back to a more appropriate one as someone emerged from the cave. “Do you need big brother to show you how it’s done again, Genji?”

“I--” The blade swung and sliced its target once, “don’t--”  and twice, “think so!” Genji quickly moved away from the cave opening as more people ran out with guns at the ready.

Their estimations were wrong; Jesse could count at least twenty Talon mercenaries still standing. He could feel his heart beating in his chest as more people from his group shot in the cave’s direction, felling at least two more people before the mercs started shooting back.

_Come on, Jesse. You can’t die from these bullets, remember? They’ll only sting, nothing to worry about._

Spinning around the rock he was hiding behind, he tightened his grip on the handle, aimed quickly and fired. Twenty-five feet away, one of the Talon mercs dropped his gun, cupping his bleeding hand and screaming in pain. Blood gushed where his intact hand pressed down on missing fingers, and for a moment Jesse felt sorry for the guy.

The realism of it all was misleading. For androids, the hosts had reactions that were deceptively lifelike. They’d said that the further from Sweetwater one ventured, the more intense the experience would be. Jesse understood what they meant now.

He looked up to see another Talon merc, a tall woman with short hair and a red scarf covering her face, aiming her gun at him. Before he could even react, Genji rammed into the woman’s side and brought his blade down in one swipe while simultaneously kicking the barrel of her shotgun up towards the sky.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Jesse could hear him shouting and laughing. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his breath huffing in time with his heart as he stepped into the fray. Guests couldn’t get hurt, but it sure felt thrilling nonetheless.

Two of their allies had already fallen and a third one hit the ground when Jesse joined in. Luckily for them, they had dealt a substantial amount of damage to the Talon group as well, making the difference in their numbers less important than it was before. Jesse found his hands steady on his gun, reflexes he thought long lost coming back to him in an instant. One down, shot to the chest. A clicking sound alerted him to someone on his right, the same guy he’d shot in the hand. Fanning the hammer, Jesse moved onto another target when the gun fell to the ground second time -- and would not be picked up again unless the guy managed to grow some fingers back.  The smell of gunpowder permeated the air, and gunshots echoed in the canyon. At one point, he found himself back to back with Hanzo, and he could swear he heard the man laughing to himself as he reloaded his rifle.

The silence after the fight was deafening, the sound of gunfire replaced by a high pitched ringing in Jesse’s ears. Of their initial group, the four hosts that had accompanied Jesse and the brothers were lying among what remained of the small Talon cell. Out of their twenty-three opponents, none was left standing, all of them either dead or incapacitated on the ground.

Jesse put his revolver back into its holster, still feeling the tingle of the kickback in his palm and wrist. He looked at Genji, then Hanzo; both had a smile on their face despite their heavy breathing.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Jesse said, hand on his chest as he took a deep breath, “but I wanna know what these people were up to.”

“Isn’t that the reason we came here in the first place?” Hanzo swung his rifle back over his shoulder, holding onto the strap. “Let’s check it out. They wouldn’t have stationed this many people out here if there wasn’t something worth protecting in that cave.”

A single gunshot interrupted them, the sound startling Jesse as he turned to look at the source of it. Even with fingers missing from both hands, the mercenary managed to hold onto the revolver. His bloody ring finger pulled the trigger a second time, the shot reverberating through the canyon. Jesse shook his head -- he admired the man’s perseverance, really, but his gunshots would do no good against…

“Hanzo!”

Genji’s shout rang out as loud as the gunshots as he hurried to his brother’s side, catching him as he lost balance. Despite the color of his clothes, Jesse could see a dark wetness spreading on Hanzo’s right side. He blinked in disbelief as the mercenary on the ground let out a wheezing chuckle.

“Shimada. Akande sends his regards, and he wants you to know--”

The gang member tried to continue, only to choke on his words when a knife pierced his throat. Genji stood there, breathing heavily, with one arm around his brother and the other extended as he had thrown the blade.

“Hanzo! You alright? _Anija, answer me._ ”

Jesse stood there, wordlessly staring. According to the rules of the park, guests couldn’t get hurt.

_Guests couldn’t bleed._

Hanzo clung to Genji, his breath realistically shallow, trying not to grimace from the pain and failing at it. His hand trembled as he pressed it to his side, his eyes trying to focus on his brother. His knees threatened to buckle under his own weight.

“I-- I’m okay, I’ll be good--” The act was convincing, down to the way Genji’s brows knitted in worry as Hanzo grew dizzier.

Could’ve fooled anyone.

“McCree, he needs a doctor,” Genji implored, urging his new partner to _do something._

Jesse looked back up to Genji, momentarily distraught. He took in the whole picture, the overwhelming despair in the man’s eyes, the pain on Hanzo’s features as he stubbornly tried to remain upright. Had there been other signs he had missed?

“McCree. Go get the horses, he really needs--”

“Genji, stop talking like I’m not here, _fuck_ \--” Hanzo’s breathing was ragged, punctuated by soft grunts. Pride and pain were clearly warring within the injured man. “McCree, we need those horses now. Please.”

Real or not, the anguish in his voice made Jesse move. In a few minutes, he came back with two horses, holding onto Hanzo while Genji saddled up, and hoisting the wounded man in front of his brother once they were ready. The urgency in Genji’s eyes, the way Hanzo tried to hold himself together despite the pain, never betrayed anything unnatural about them. As far as Jesse could tell, it looked like the real deal.

Hell, maybe it was.

Pressing his heels against his mare’s side, Jesse urged her into a canter, following Genji and keeping an eye out for signs that Hanzo’s condition was getting worse.

Guest or not, the distress he could read in the brothers did not look like a mere fabrication.

 

*

 

By the time they reached Sweetwater, the sun was long gone below the horizon. Genji had managed to hold his brother firmly as they galloped towards town, a task that became harder as time passed. If Hanzo had been alert at the beginning of their journey, he gradually lost his strength until he was fading in and out of consciousness by the time they reached the village. Jesse even had to quickly urge his horse next to Genji’s in order to push the older brother upright again when Hanzo slipped to the side and threatened to topple over.

“The doctor’s office must be closed at this hour,” Genji muttered, his arm wrapped around his brother’s chest, fingers stained red from touching the bloody fabric. Instead of highly worried, he now seemed more somber, letting out a short sigh and pressing his forehead against the back of Hanzo’s neck. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.”

Jesse tried not to think of what Genji implied, of what the park mechanics implied. Instead he hopped down from his horse, trying to assess the situation at a glance. In the end, he looked up at Genji, giving him a tap on the forearm.

“You stay here, I think I know where I can find her.” He paused, pressing a hand to Hanzo’s knee and shaking it lightly. The man was pale, his breathing short and his skin covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. “And you, too. You stay here, alright? You ain’t got nowhere else to go.”

Hanzo shifted slightly under the touch.

“Enough with that tone, I’m not dead yet--” Jesse smiled at the reply. It was a weak murmur, but there was still some grumpiness to it, a bit like pride that had been trampled over.

“Good. Keep it that way.” The softness in his own tone surprised Jesse as he gave Hanzo’s knee one last pat and jogged over to the saloon. The lights were still on, which meant Reinhardt was probably pouring the last rounds and cleaning up. With any luck, if his wife wasn’t there, the barkeep would at least know where she was.

Jesse quickly pushed through the swinging doors, sighing with relief as he spotted the thin silhouette sitting at the bar. Things would be alright.

In a matter of minutes, the lights in the doctor’s office were back on even though the sign on the door still showed ‘Closed’ to the public. Hanzo was easier to slide off his mount than he’d been to get on, slipping without resistance into Jesse’s arms as Genji helped him down. The blood loss did not seem as bad as Jesse expected -- no gushing, only a steady trickle that stained his clothes and fingers as he held the man in his arms. Hanzo was heavy, as would be expected from his musculature. Nothing out of the ordinary, no stiff joints or strangely balanced weight that would betray another nature.

Was it really just a bunch of computer codes that caused all this? That made Hanzo hold onto him and try to keep his chin held up instead of letting his neck relax and his head drop back? That lit the weak but still present flame in his eyes, like a will to live and to fight? Was it programming that made Genji follow him so closely that he almost tripped on his way inside the clinic? That made him so eager to offer up his arm when the doctor mentioned fluid replacement? That made him twitch every time he heard a grunt behind the closed door of the side room in which Ana treated her patient, all while trying not to scratch at the bandage where she had taken his blood?

There was a complexity to it all that suddenly made Jesse feel like this whole place was cruel. That, somehow, someone thought it was a good idea to program beings who _lived_ and _felt_ just like he did, and to give them this kind of pain and distress. Hanzo clung to life as Genji paced in the waiting room like a tiger in a cage. If those were not true feelings, if this wasn’t the very human fear of death, then Jesse didn’t know what was.

After what seemed to be hours, the door finally opened again to admit a tired Ana carrying a tray with a teapot, cups, and cookies. Setting it on her desk, she let out a soft sigh as her clean, steady hands filled the cups with steaming hot tea.

“He’s resting right now. He will need a change of bandages later, but he should be out of trouble.” She extended a cup to Jesse, a kind smile gracing her features -- right as she slammed her foot across the doorway to the side room, effectively blocking Genji from entering. “He. Is. Resting. Why don’t you stay here for a bit? You can visit after we finish our tea, boy.” Somehow, the amiable tone and smile on her face seemed almost scary all of a sudden.

“You should stay put and drink your tea, Genji,” Jesse leaned in to whisper to him, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. “I got a feeling Grandma don’t take no shit.”

“‘Grandma’ also has ears, you know. Just a heads up.” Her smile hadn’t changed at all, yet Jesse suddenly felt smaller in his chair.

Chapter two of his cowboy story: _Don’t piss Granny off_. No wonder Reinhardt liked her -- they were two nice old people who could become downright terrifying in a split second. Jesse quickly took a bite of cookie and a sip of tea, scalding his tongue on the hot liquid in an attempt to save face. Ana’s nod of approval somehow reassured him, as if he had done the right thing to avoid an incident.

Despite the tea still being a bit too hot for consumption, both Genji and Jesse finished it as quickly as they could -- not without sputtering at moments and needing to take deep breaths in a pointless attempt to cool it down. Ana sighed, shaking her head at them as she finally allowed them into the side room.

“Children, behave,” she warned them, rolling her eyes as she pushed the privacy curtain aside.

Hanzo had seen better days for sure, but his face had regained some color. The wound on his side had been dressed with clean bandages which showed no sign of staining yet. He had pulled the blanket over the other side of his chest in an attempt to keep warm while still keeping the bandages exposed in case blood seeped through and stuck to the bedsheets. Sweat had dried in his hair, giving him a dishevelled look Jesse found somewhat endearing despite the situation -- the man he met on the train had seemed prim and proper, far from how tired and messy Hanzo looked at the moment.

Genji was at his side in a matter of seconds while Jesse lagged behind, giving them their space. There was something in their exchange, even if he didn’t understand the language they spoke, that made him feel the need to stay back for a moment. The way Hanzo fluffed up his brother’s hair, throwing a weak jab towards his shoulder and smiling, reminded him of the way families acted back home. It was something he had only seen as an outsider, but he recognized the same displays of healthy brotherly affection. The concern, the reassurance, the teasing in Hanzo’s voice despite the frailty in his tone ticked all those boxes.

No way in hell a code could do that.

“McCree. Come closer, don’t stand in that stupid corner by yourself.”

Despite the strain, Hanzo’s voice still commanded obedience. In other situations, Jesse would’ve laughed and remained where he was just to show defiance towards authority. Now, however, he stepped closer until he reached the bed. An arm covered in a tattoo depicting a dragon amid stormy skies rose from under the blanket as Hanzo cupped Jesse’s hand in both of his. Jesse could feel the calluses of the man’s fingers on his skin.

“I will not forget your help. If there is anything you need--”

“Nah, I don’t need nothin’,” Jesse cut him off, giving Hanzo’s hands a squeeze. “You just rest, heal up, and we’ll go back to ass-kicking next time we meet, alright?”

Hanzo’s laugh was loud but short-lived, interrupted by a wince and a hand to his side. A little bit of red had started seeping through the bandage.

“I suppose I will have to rest, then. And when we’re ready…”

“We’ll give ‘em what they deserve. Tenfold.”

The smile and nod Hanzo gave him should not have had this effect. Jesse should not have felt this pinch in his chest, this need to make his words come true right this instant. Everything he experienced was programmed in a life-sized world, the ultimate step beyond virtual reality. Those eyes that looked at him with a pained, vindictive urge should not be getting to him in a way that made him need to follow through.

Yet they did. They were the push Jesse needed to forget about restraint. He would be one of the heroes of this story. The opportunity was there, and he would grab it.

He put brought his hands together, pressing against Hanzo’s palm.  

“I promise.”


	2. Sub Rosa

Sombra gave her phone an exasperated look as it rang for the third time, sighing to herself as she picked up the device. Some people still didn’t understand that calling was too old timey for her. Texting was the way people communicated nowadays. Vocal conversation did not allow for the usage of iconic vines or on-point memes. She really could’ve used some memes right now, work was so very slow and boring. 

“Your phone’s got a touchscreen, Jesse. It’s meant to be used,” she ended up answering, tapping her finger at the ever-flashing electronic display in front of her. “You know, touch the letters and they form words.  _ ¿Qué onda güey? _ ”

“Those letters are tiny and I have fat fingers,” Jesse laughed on the other end of the line. Leave it to him to call whenever Sombra was bored out of her goddamned mind. “Wanted to say thank you for telling me about that contest thing the other day. Got to use my season pass last weekend, I  _ really  _ owe you a drink for that.” 

“You had fun, then?” She ran a hand through her hair, twirling a strand of her mohawk around her finger. A few months ago, Vishkar had a fundraiser for one of their affiliated charities, selling a couple million dollars worth of tickets for a lottery. Turned out, of all the people who bought their entry into the raffle, the one to win the highly sought-after season pass to Westworld was none other than her good friend, Jesse. To the dismay of most of the other entrants, he had barely heard of the place; his knowledge of the park consisted mostly of what Sombra had told him. She would’ve participated too, but employees weren’t allowed. A shame. 

“‘Fun’ is a weird way to put it,” Jesse said, sounding like he was looking for the right words. “It was cool, don’t get me wrong, but it was more of an experience than just ‘oh yeah, I had fun.’ Some parts were downright stressful.” 

“Don’t tell me you won’t go back because of it and waste a pass worth two million, Jesse.”

“Of course I’ll go ba-- _ did you say two fucking million? _ ”

Sombra looked over her shoulder to the glass wall behind her, making sure no one was watching her as she wasted precious company time on the phone. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Didn’t you think it was suspicious that they didn’t offer an alternative cash prize if you didn’t want the pass?”

“Yeah, but--”

“You visiting the park costs less in resources than actually paying you the value of your pass, Jess. What’s one more visitor?” 

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. Sombra spun around in her chair, facing the walls of glass that divided the enormous space into several work stations. The outer walls were painted black, the furniture a stark contrast of white, silver and glass against the dark interior of the facility hidden underneath the park. In one of the nearby larger glass rooms, two scientists observed a newly-engineered horse, watching the robot’s smallest movement as they made it walk in tight circles. 

“I didn’t know it was that expensive to visit the park,” she heard Jesse resume over the phone. “Heard it was a lot of money, but that much…”

“40k a day. When you think of employees, material and insurance, it all adds up.” Sombra watched as the horse trotted in wider circles. “It’s not just high end technology, Jess. It’s avant-garde.” 

“Again, not how I’d put it.” Jesse paused. A lighter clicked on his side, and Sombra could almost smell the tobacco as if it had seeped through the phone and into her office. “These hosts, they’re scary realistic.”

“Vishkar’s very own pride and joy.” Even if Jesse couldn’t see her, Sombra still rolled her eyes, brought her finger up into her mouth and mimicked gagging. The hosts were amazing but Vishkar was not, even if they were the ones signing her paycheck in the end. 

“This big guy - I’m not kidding - this big guy walked out of his bar and he  _ yote _ this kid on top of his friends like he was the king of the bowling alley or something--” 

“Wait, wait,  _ wait _ . Pause there a second. Did you really use the word ‘yeet.’ In past tense. In an actual sentence.” 

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“Uuh… Maybe?”

“I am  _ so proud _ of you. Okay, you can go on.” The sigh of relief Sombra heard made it hard to stifle a giggle. Down the hallway, the two scientists lead the horse out of their work station and walked it down to a large elevator, sending it in for a last quality check before adding it to the stables. 

“Oh, yeah, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Jesse said, going silent for a moment after. Sombra could very well imagine him taking a long drag from his cigar, like he did when they played cards together. Usually, it meant he was about to take a risk. “Do the hosts remember anything about the visitors that come back? Like, will they recognize friends or something?” 

It figured that Jesse would’ve played the good guy and helped someone out as soon as he set foot in the park. No matter how he tried, he could never hide his true colors. Sombra sighed softly, shaking her head. He was good and generous to a fault, sometimes. She wouldn’t intervene so long as his kindness didn’t actually get him in trouble.  

“How to explain…” Sombra started, her thumb tracing circles on the arm of her computer chair. “Remember when I told you that some people come to the park to play villains? Fuck, kill, pillage?” Jesse hummed, which translated as a nod to her. “These people, among others, do bad things to the hosts. It’s not that common, but... sometimes they’re really, really bad things. Vishkar lets them do it because of their whole ‘this is just a game with robots’ schtick: no real consequences. But the hosts  _ feel _ , Jess. It’s what makes them so realistic.” She took a deep breath, fingers moving up to rub at her temples. “The best thing we can do for them is to make them forget.” 

The silence at the end of the line was an answer in itself. She had already spoken too much, way past what her contract allowed. Still, her friendship with Jesse was important, and he was one of the few people she had sworn to be perfectly honest with. They had had each other’s back in days that had been dark for the both of them. 

“I don’t know if it’s cruel, merciful or completely twisted,” Jesse finally sighed. “I’d need to visit a couple more times to get a good article out of that.” 

“That’d be a professional suicide, Jess. This park’s been around for years, don’t you think something about this would’ve made it out by now? Vishkar knows how to buy or force silence when they need to.”

“If they feel like you say they do, then it’s monstrous that--”

“Jesse,” Sombra cut him off, rubbing at her eyes. As her hand fell back into her lap, she spotted smeared black and purple on the back of it -- another perfect eyeliner line ruined. Great, just great. “The world still has a hard enough time dealing with the issues there are between different humans. I get where you’re coming from, and I am of the same opinion, trust me, but people are idiots. If you bring hosts into the equation--  _ oh shit. _ ” 

“What?” 

“It’s her.” 

Satya Vaswani, one of Vishkar’s quality assurance management team, walked towards the door to Sombra’s work space with her chin held high. Clad in a meticulously ironed suit, she had her tablet in hand and her eyes set on Sombra through the glass wall. It wasn’t as though Sombra could pretend she hadn’t been chatting on the phone and had been hard at work instead. There was little to no privacy in her programming office. 

“Her?” The door opened just as Jesse piped up. “Yeesh, things really ended that badly between you two?”

“Yes, yes they did.” Sombra squared her jaw, still holding her phone to her ear while Satya stared at her, eyebrows quirking as she tapped her finger on her own wrist.  _ You’re wasting time. _

“So I shouldn’t invite her to Gabe’s--”

“You  _ will not  _ invite her to Gabe’s birthday dinner, you hear me?” Sombra muttered through her teeth, defiantly staring at her coworker. It was petty, but she still indulged it. 

“Okay, okay, cool. You need anything, you call me, alright?”

“Uh huh. Same to you.  _ Cuídate _ , Jess.” She hung up, taking the time to set her phone face down on her desk and pick up her own tablet, bringing up the files she had opened beforehand. “Vaswani, to what do I owe the  _ pleasure _ ?” 

“Miss Colomar.” While Sombra had almost spat her words, Satya remained calm and professional. Glacially so. “Are you spending your work hours chatting on the phone?” 

“The guy who won our little fundraiser contest is a friend, remember? You two were introduced last summer.” Sombra shook her head, giving a little scoff. “He was calling to say how he liked his first experience in the park.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment. Next time he wishes to express his gratitude or submit constructive comments, he can do so by directly calling our customer service associates.” 

“I’ll make sure to tell him. Might have to call him for that,” Sombra added with a smirk. Noticing the subtle glance Satya threw at the empty chair next to hers, she shrugged and gestured at it. “If this is really about important park matters, I guess you can sit down.”

“Thank you,” Satya said, sitting down and crossing her ankles. At a quick glance, the reports on her tablet looked pretty normal to Sombra. “You are aware of the problems that arose with the latest update of the hosts, am I correct?” 

Sombra vaguely remembered the meeting they had about needing to fix small bugs in the new Reverie 1.0 program they had implemented in a small number of hosts for field testing. Things seemed fine, and they had returned to the narrative quickly enough not to affect the storylines. 

“Speech impediment? We fixed it last week.” 

Satya shook her head, pressing the first note icon in the margins of the reports. 

“Apparently, Host #2548 Santiago Lopez, also known as ‘Dirty Lopez,’ had a malfunction yesterday in the presence of five guests.” She looked down at the screen before passing the tablet to her coworker. “He set himself on fire using a bottle of vodka and a cigar during the capture mission.” Before Sombra could ask for clarification or even let out a simple expletive, Satya tapped on a link which opened a video that came from the satellite surveillance system. 

The 3D image adjustment was clear enough to show the host leaning against one of the guests, getting uncomfortably close to their face while another host playing the Sheriff’s role aimed his gun. Lopez then took a couple running steps back and broke the bottle on his own shoulder, splashing the liquid all over himself. There was a moment of dramatic pause as the guests on the video took a few steps backwards. The Sheriff fired, hitting Lopez in the thigh and making him stagger. The host nevertheless righted himself and, grabbing his own cigar like a match, pressed it against his soaked shirt. The flames caught instantly and the video abruptly ended as the Sheriff shielded two guests with his body and urged them away. 

“Holy shit.” Sombra squinted at the screen, pressing the replay button. “Holy shit, what the hell?”

“You tell me,” Satya sighed, taking her tablet back to thumb through the report. “I would not call this a ‘speech impediment’ at this point.”

“You can’t be serious. They’re supposed to have survival reflexes, they wouldn’t just up and decide to become a human torch out of the blue.” Snatching the tablet back from Satya’s hands, Sombra pressed the replay button again, then quickly paused the video. “There. He’s speaking to that guest. Did they report what he said?”

“I was getting to this.” Satya frowned lightly, taking her tablet once again to go through the file. “There it is: ‘ _ Cage an eagle and it will bite at the wires, be they of iron or of gold. _ ’ I did the research, and it is strange. The quote is anachronistic, since Ibsen wrote the play in which it appears in 1858. There is no way it was performed in America yet. We set the story timeline in the mid-1860’s, there’s no way he could--”

“You’re saying this guy quoted a Norwegian play he couldn’t possibly know about, and then decided to play with matches while drenched in alcohol.” 

“I am just as clueless as you on the matter.” Satya uncrossed her ankles then crossed them again, repeating the pattern a few times before steeling herself. “We are recalling all the hosts that have been updated with the Reverie program to make sure this kind of incident does not happen again. If the tests reveal that this was an exceptional event, they will be put back into the park when we are done.” 

She gave a tired sigh, sinking into her chair. Despite her lingering resentment toward Satya, Sombra felt a hint of sympathy for her: she obviously hadn’t slept at all last night. 

“I will send you the report and update your access permissions. You will have to work with someone from the Behavior Department to make sure all bases are covered.” Satya seemed to hesitate a bit before adding, “I know things are tense between us right now, but I am counting on you to get to the bottom of this.” 

Sombra took her own tablet, checking her emails to make sure she had received Satya’s. Running a hand through her hair, she brushed it to the side, nervously toying with the ends. 

“And if we find other hosts that show the same malfunction? What do we do?”

The way Satya looked away made her heart sink.

“Decommission, lobotomize, cold storage. Our priority is the safety of our guests.” 

 

*

 

When the Reverie program had been installed, it had all been a matter of coding. It was easy to update the program, then remotely install it on fifty hosts chosen for the pilot study. Now that Sombra saw the remaining forty-nine aligned in a large glass room next to Winston’s workstation and remembered that she would have to individually verify every single one of them, that number didn’t feel so small anymore. They all stood in a perfect line, devoid of clothing and with empty gazes fixed on a point far ahead of them. Most of them were taller than she was, not unlike her coworkers. Blemishes, faded scars, tattoos, and thousands of other small details made each one unique and recognizable. The faint lines and creases, the various textures of hair and skin, everything down to their teeth and fingernails looked so lifelike. Had she dressed one of them in modern clothes (and maybe washed them with normal soap and shampoo; some looked outright dirty), she was certain they would be indistinguishable from her human coworkers. 

“I noticed one of them biting his lip in the pre-analysis evaluation. The Reverie program seems to be working well at first sight.” Holding an old-fashioned pad of paper and a pen, Winston walked back into the room with two mugs of coffee in his other hand. “They were out of salted caramel creamer. Sugar and cream for you.” 

Sombra took her coffee from the scientist’s large, hairy hand, careful not to bump the other mug with hers and spill its contents. Winston was fun to work with: the tall, bulky man was the quintessential image of a kind-hearted university professor, down to the beard, square glasses and questionably-patterned shirts. Certainly these colors had been out of fashion for at least twenty years. He always had insightful comments and made sure to spare a little attention for his coworkers, bringing peanut butter cookies from the break room or remembering everyone’s coffee order without fail. 

“Thanks, big guy.” Sombra took a sip of her coffee, her shoulders relaxing with it. “Which one of them? I worked on the program, but didn’t get to see it go live.”

“It was quite a move you pulled off.” Winston grimaced as he sipped from his coffee -- no salted caramel creamer, indeed. “I have seen them from the very beginning, when we started making them. Their movements were so mechanical that coming too close would give them away. We’ve come a long way.” He smiled, consulting his pad before looking back to the hosts. “Number 0711, please step out of line and come here.” 

Towards the beginning of the line, one of the hosts took a step to the side before approaching the two workers. He was not exactly tall -- although still taller than Sombra -- with an easily recognizable dragon tattoo running up his arm and over his chest. The host stood still, his dark eyes unmoving as he stared straight ahead. 

“Are they in pause mode?” Sombra stepped closer, leaning in to watch for any sign of the program activating. 

“I put them in idling, yes. He might do it again soon.” 

They both scrutinized the host’s features, waiting for a sign. A couple seconds passed while the android remained unmoving before he slowly blinked, gaze drifting to the right as he moved his jaw, teeth worrying at the inside of his lower lip. His fingers curled, thumb grazing against the side of his pointer finger. It lasted two seconds at most, but it was hard to miss. 

“Impressive,” Sombra whispered, as if talking any louder was suddenly out of place.

“It really is. Do you know what their cognition processor remembers when the program activates?” 

“There shouldn’t be anything for them to remember -- oh, yeah. You can go back in line, dear. Thank you,” she added, waving at the host. Number 0711 turned at the command, walking back to his spot in the waiting line. “They’re supposed to get a clean wipe of their memories every time they come in for maintenance. Unless you guys didn’t do your job.” 

Winston gave a soft snort at the jab and adjusted his glasses. “Speaking of doing our job, we should get into that office and get started. Unlike some people working here, I like getting home and dining at a regular hour.” He gestured towards the glass door, stumbling over his own feet when he hurried to hold it open for Sombra. She walked by him briskly, sitting in one of the two computer chairs that faced a smaller metallic folding chair, and held her tablet in front of her. 

“Yeah, you’re right. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be done with this.”

 

*

 

“His analysis seems good. He’s going back to the park.” Winston checked a line on his list. “Do we need to check anything else with him before moving onto the next one?” 

“Just a few checks to see if his story still holds together after the modifications.” Sombra thumbed through the notes on her tablet. “Alright, what’s your name again-- Genji.”

The host didn’t look directly at her, yet she knew she had his attention by the way he straightened in his chair. Sombra sighed -- she would’ve put underwear on the hosts if it had been up to her to decide. The big shots that owned the company thought  that any concession to the hosts' modesty would result in employees forgetting that these were assets and investments -- not people. Of course, they were not the ones stuck staring at naughty bits all day long. 

“Continue -- cognition only; no emotional affect.” The host took a deep breath. He looked similar the one she had observed earlier. Dark, short hair, with deep brown eyes and soft lines on his cheeks left by smiling -- brothers, according to the notes on her tablet. Even if the other had a resting bitch face. 

“Do you know where you are?” Sombra asked out of formality, already knowing the answer by heart. 

“I am in a dream,” came the response, devoid of emotion. It would’ve been unsettling if she wasn’t so used to it. 

“You are correct,” she answered, following the protocols. “I have a few questions for you, before you wake up.”

The host nodded without making eye contact. 

“How did you get to Sweetwater?”

“I took the train with my brother on our father’s order. We came with a couple dignitaries. They were not aware of our presence.” It would make for a good story, if he was not completely inexpressive. Sombra quickly moved on.

“What did your father ask of you?” 

“He wanted us to start the family business in America. To get a head start before other people started getting interested.” So far, everything checked. 

“Alright, good, good. You guys get in a lot of fights, and you drag newcomers into this. How do you feel about them?” 

“They have to pull their own weight. We’re not here to be their wet nurses.” The host paused as the processor ran through a number of operations. Sombra could follow it on the screen of her tablet. He was struggling to find the right word, something a computer didn’t normally do.  _ Impressive _ . “Others must be able to watch out for their own asses. We will not go out of our way to protect them. Life is hard, you know?” 

The question fell flat without the normal emotional inflection he was supposed to add behind it. Sombra nodded, sinking into her chair. 

“Yeah, I know. That’ll be all, Genji. Go back to the other room and wait in line, alright? We’re almost done.” She waved her hand, looking back at Winston. “You work all day with them. How do you not get bored?”

The scientist had turned his own chair around, sitting backwards on the seat with his chest leaning into the backrest. He smiled as he unwrapped a granola bar, offering another one to his coworker. 

“I think they’re fascinating. They learn, they think, they do all the things we do. They have insight on certain situations a lot of people here wouldn’t even care about.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re asking them for some dating advice. Even I wouldn’t be that desperate,” Sombra snorted, taking the snack that was so kindly offered. 

“Haha, very funny.” Winston still laughed before taking a bite of his snack, munching absentmindedly. “You know, some of them have more success with people than I do. Maybe they could teach me a thing or two.” 

Sombra began to laugh, only to find herself coughing on bits of granola and peanut butter. “Ah shit-- Don’t give me snacks if you’re planning on making me choke on them, you--” Coughing, she brought a hand to her mouth, throwing a glare in her coworker’s direction. She found him snickering at her, and couldn’t hold back a smile herself. He was alright. 

“I’m not kidding. Bring the next one in--” Winston finished his bar with a second bite, which didn’t keep him from talking. “This one’s brother. You know customer service received a complaint about this one? Some woman said he wasn’t ‘promiscuous enough with ladies.’” 

They both looked back at the host who entered and sat down on the folding chair. Number 0711, again. Sombra could sympathize; she wasn’t even into dudes that much, and she still thought he was handsome. She still frowned as she looked down at the tablet in her hand. 

“He’s programmed to respond to advances from men, and even then, he’s not going to fall into bed with just anyone. It’s important that the board doesn’t take that kind of stupid comment seriously, you can’t change someone to fit your--”

“Some _ thing _ , Olivia.” Winston sighed, shoulders sagging. “I agree with you wholeheartedly, and you know the board also thinks that kind of representation is important. But, according to company policies, you must not forget that these guys are… you know.”

“Robots, constructs, androids, whatever. Yeah.” She aggressively bit into her granola bar, imagining that it was the head of a whiny visitor. There was something therapeutic to it. “Okay, we don’t have all day, let’s do this.” 

She glanced at her tablet.

“Hanzo, please enter analysis mode. Now, tell me, do you know where you are?”

“I am in a dream.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give a big YEEHAW to Soap for the awesome, fast, on point beta reading and for the endless back and forth with ideas ;v; Another yeehaw goes to Wyntera for the tips and for inspiring me to write with her beautiful stories and splendid characterization.  
> And a huge yeehaw to everyone who bears with me as I blab on about cowboys and robots and who still love me even if I try to shove my Westworld DVDs into their face at the smallest occasion (but srsly watch it it's sO GOOD)
> 
> You can find me @ladylefol (art blog) and @needshea1ing on tumblr! And thank you for reading <3


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